The Age of Marvels: Chapter Twenty Five
Captain America
and the
Invaders
Part Twenty Five
During the darkest days of World War II, America stood united against the threat of the Nazi Germany war machine. Our Greatest Generation sacrificed everything in order to stem the forces of oppression from overrunning our very planet, led under the fearless banner of the greatest hero of our time, Captain America. Inspired by his courageous example, and with the aid of his misfit band of Invaders, Captain America led the forces of freedom to victory, changing his world forever.
New Jersey
The home of Mr. Barnes
"If I had to pick our darkest moment, the time when all hope seemed to be lost, it would have been that one," the old man continued, speaking quietly into the dark. "The soldiers were either exhausted or bleeding into the sand, my team was barely hanging on by a thread, we were completely surrounded and overwhelmed by monsters that shouldn't even have existed, and now Johann Shmidt, the Red Skull, had returned to hammer the final nail into our coffin."
Colonel Fury shook his head in awe, "I don't understand. Of course history tells us that you won that day...but I don't see how that could be. The odds were so stacked against you that it should have been completely impossible to achieve victory. How could a force that was so demoralized and overpowered ever hope to pull through?"
The old man laughed, "Heh, well it's not like it was easy, Fury," he said, patting the stump on his shoulder where his arm used to be.
The atmosphere suddenly became serious, and it seemed like an eternity passed before Mr. Barnes continued his story, "To be honest, son...it's times like those that you find out what you're really made of. When life throws all it has at you at once, and it seems impossible to go on, you can begin to fight with a strength you didn't even know you had. If there's one thing Steve taught me, it's that the human spirit is a remarkable and unbreakable thing, and when the strength of your body fails you, sometimes the strength of your soul can be enough to see you through to the sunrise."
"That's the kind of power that Captain America inspired in all of us."
June 6th, 1944
Near Omaha Beach, Normandy, France
Johann Shmidt, the Red Skull, placed his enormous hands solidly around Captain America's neck and lifted him bodily off the ground, bringing them face to face, "Steve Rogers, is that you? Fancy meeting you here!" he exclaimed, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "Welcome to France! This is your first time visiting, yes? Are you here on pleasure or business?"
It was impossible to Steve to reply, held by the throat as he was. He had been running on empty before, having just ordered his team to strategically withdraw in order to consolidate the little strength they had left. Now even that option may be lost to them. Long ago he had decided that if his death on the battlefield could serve his country in any way, then he would gladly sacrifice himself, so the thought of death didn't scare him any longer. He had known that today very well might be the day that he would have to pay that terrible price, but somewhere deep inside he had hoped that somehow he could avoid that terrible fate.
That hope was now gone.
The only thing that Steve Rogers could hope for at this point was that he could somehow delay the Skull until his teammates could get to safety. The invasion may have been effectively halted by now, but hopefully they had still managed to establish a beachhead firm enough so that Shmidt and what was left of his monsters couldn't repel them entirely. Eventually they could still claim Normandy...and if it took Captain America's death to accomplish that, so be it.
But the sick irony of Shmidt's ranting wasn't lost on Steve. Rockets, bombs, and mines were exploding across the highlands overlooking the blood stained beach. Men from both sides were screaming and dying in shocking numbers. Horrifying, titanic beast men were overwhelming his teammates, and here stood Johann Shmidt, laughing and carrying on (with his enemy helplessly dangling in his grasp) as if he didn't have a care in the world. An island of insanity amidst the bloodstained landscape.
But now was not the time to be concentrating on those things. Steve had to come up with a way out of this. His energy and stamina had been almost completely used up getting to this point of the battle, so he knew that his end was coming, but he had to keep fighting for the soldiers, for the Invaders...and for James. That was what was most important. The Skull's attention had been keenly focused on Captain America, the rest of the battle be damned. He knew that the Invaders would take this opportunity to regroup and find some way to salvage the rest of the fight. All Steve had to do was distract Shmidt long enough to ensure that his friends were safe.
With that in mind, it was immediately obvious to Steve that Shmidt had clearly gone insane. Instead of taking control of the battle, which would have been his to win at that point, the Skull had instead let it go ahead and run its own course. He wasn't even concerned with it in the least, content as he was just having Steve at his mercy and gloating over him. He had let his own personal vendettas and prejudices take priority, and it was that kind of irrational, single minded pursuit of his own seflish goals that might just allow the Invaders the chance they needed to pull through.
Shmidt's appearance didn't help him seem any less unbalanced. Just like the night he had transformed into the Skull, Johann's body was disproportionately large, covered in bulging muscles that almost seemed to be bursting from his frame. His skin had taken a dark red tone, and was seething with deep scars and bulging veins that ran the length of his entire body, giving him a nightmarish figure.
Completing the traumatizing picture was Shmidt's namesake, what was left of his head. His face appeared to have been almost ripped off, leaving behind a grinning death's head of a skull, which was the same shade of red as his flesh. His bloodshot eyes moved maddeningly around their sockets, never blinking or missing any detail of his surroundings. His naked, bald skull, covered with scars just like the rest of his body, reflected the dark and cunning mind contained within. He was truly a hideous sight to behold.
The uniform he wore reflected his unusual stature, but was still better than the rags that his giants boasted. His dark green officer's pants were held up by a belt with the golden crest of the Nazi party gleaming from its buckle, tucked into the military grade black boots which covered his feet. He wore no shirt, but instead a very large jacket, upon which his many medals and rank insignias glittered in the sunlight. The jacket itself was open, revealing the Skull's chest, upon which had been carved (in what appeared to be a disturbingly painful and masochistic manner) an enormous swastika through the scars that already adorned the area, just like the monstrous brutes he had led into battle.
And if Steve hadn't known any better, he could have sworn that the Red Skull had even grown more gigantic than when last they had met. That night when the two enemies had battled on the docks of New York, while Shmidt had been bigger and stronger that Steve, they had at least been of somewhat comparable stature. But now, the Skull frankly towered over Captain America, totally eclipsing him in terms of size and muscle mass. Now standing several feet taller than the super soldier, he was even larger than the giants he had unleashed upon the unsuspecting Allied forces. Steve had no idea how he'd done it, but Shmidt had somehow become a hulking monstrosity unlike any the world had ever seen.
But he had no time to reflect upon any of that now. Still caught in the inescapable, vice-like grip of the Red Skull, Captain America was now struggling for breath. His failing muscles strained in a vain effort to break Shmidt's iron grip upon his neck, but to no avail. If he couldn't think of something quick, he would surely die before the fight had even begun, and his friends needed every moment he could buy them if they were going to survive the carnage around them. Unfortunately, by then it was almost impossible for Steve to even gasp for air, so hard was the Skull crushing his windpipe. In another moment or two he would pass out completely, and then it would be over for them all.
"You would have been shocked to see the way that France just rolled over and accepted our hospitality," the Skull continued ranting, relishing his foe's helpless misery with glee. "If only the British would acquiesce that graciously, everyone would be a lot happier, don't you agree? Of course, look around you, France's interior decorating is all wrong. All this blood and body parts strewn about haphazardly...ugh! Yes, we'll have to redecorate. I'm thinking a sofa over there, and a nice coffee table with some interesting books in that corner. Oh, I'm sorry! Am I boring you? You look absolutely dreadful, Rogers! Why don't you excuse yourself and freshen up a bit?"
With that, the Skull viciously threw Steve down into the dirt, rocks and shrapnel biting into his skin cruelly. However, he was too busy gasping for breath and blinking away the stars in front of his eyes to notice. Another few seconds in the Skull's grasp and he would have suffocated. Even as he choked down painfully sweet gulps of air he reflected that Shmidt's goal must not be to kill him, at least not immediately...he wanted to play with Steve first.
With terrifying clarity Steve turned to glare at the Red Skull, his heart stopping in his chest as he realized that Shmidt intended to beat him slowly to death, one agonizing blow at a time, leisurely pounding on Steve until every bone in his body had been broken, until he had been literally tenderized to the point that he would be almost unrecognizable as the hero he had once been. And then, only when he was practically begging for death, would the Skull deliver that final blow that he had been anticipating for so long.
As Captain America's face darkened with dread, the Skull's expression brightened like a child at Christmas, and it was one of the most hideous sights Steve had ever witnessed, "Yes, I see that you now understand, Rogers. You were indeed a match for me those months ago in New York. I hadn't yet gotten used to my powers and the pain of my transformation gave you quite the advantage. But as you can see, the Fuhrer's scientists have enhanced and improved upon the serum that your precious Dr. Erskine began. Now I am much stronger and faster than even you could ever hope to be."
"It's too bad the serum didn't work as well on the men who 'volunteered' for the treatment," Shmidt continued, in a slightly more thoughtful tone. "We never could figure out why it drove them mad and erased every last shred of their humanity. Dr. Erskine never revealed the complete formulaic makeup of the serum to me, after all. Unfortunately, the poor things became nothing more than mindless, savage killing machines. We could barely contain or control them, but we didn't have time to perfect the technique, we had to have the savages ready for battle by today. I know you consider yourself the final legacy of your beloved Dr. Erskine, but make no mistake Rogers, once you are dead, Erskine's true legacy will live on in these brainless monstrosities, ensuring the continued dominance of the master race for all time."
The Red Skull took a few slow steps towards Steve, who was still doubled over on the ground gasping for breath, "And now, here in the dirt of Normandy, when you are at your weakest and utterly spent, I am going to destroy you, Steve Rogers. We both know how this will end. You are powerless to resist, and your friends cannot aid you. I am going to play with you, slowly breaking you down until there is nothing left. Then, I am going to beat you into unconsciousness. Later, after you have been captured and slowly, agonizingly tortured and interrogated until you have surrendered every drop of information you possess about the Allies, you are going to die alone and forgotten in the darkness of a secret underground bunker in the heart of the Rheinland."
"I hope you spend your last minutes of freedom enjoying the knowledge that you have finally, completely failed your beloved country for the last time, Rogers," Shmidt said as he prepared to deliver his first, bone shattering blow.
"Never!" Steve shouted, blasting up from the dirt with his shield already poised to strike.
With a ferocity that Steve wasn't even aware he still had, he lashed out at the Skull, tearing into him with an animalistic strength that defied belief. Shmidt couldn't even utter a shout of surprise as Captain America's unbreakable, triangular shield slammed into his jaw. The Nazi agent grimaced as he felt his teeth crunch painfully together.
But Steve wasn't done yet. Again and again he pummeled his adversary, landing blow upon blow against his muscular frame. The ring of his shield striking the Skull's body resounded across the battlefield as sweat poured from Steve's brow. The rest of the conflict seemed almost to fade away while Captain America desperately fought against his enemy. Steve put every last bit of strength into the onslaught, knowing that if he didn't defeat Shmidt now, he would never get another chance.
And when the dust cleared and Captain America felt his body begin trembling with utter exhaustion, he fell to his knees, supporting his trembling frame against his shield. Looking up, he could see the Skull towering over him, his crimson eyes blazing as he glared down at his much loathed enemy.
"Quite an...impressive...outburst..." Shmidt said, wiping blood away from his mouth and holding his side as he struggled to breathe. "I was hoping...that you would...make this fun..."
And before Captain America could react, the Skull bent over and swiped his shield out from under him. Steve didn't even have time to watch as it flew away across the battlefield, whistling as it cut a spiraling pathway through the wind. Then the Skull picked Steve up off the ground, his enormous hand completely engulfing the hero's head, and held him up until they were facing each other, his eyes revealing nothing but burning fury.
"I hate you, Steve Rogers," Shmidt growled in a dangerously quiet voice. "Not because we are different...but because we are the same."
And grunting with exertion, the Red Skull slammed Captain America's face into the ground as hard as he possibly could with such titanic force that the very earth shook, shattering the rocks beneath them and sending shards splintering off in all directions.
Steve lost all sense of time and space as his world exploded with sound and pain. His senses had lost all meaning, and his mind seemed to have turned off. He was no longer aware of the war being waged around him. He was not aware of the bones he had broken, or the blood which was caked upon his face, obscuring his vision. Sounds were muted, and the world appeared to have blurred into an unrecognizable mess. He was dimly aware that someone nearby was making a noise, but he could not make out who it might be. Was it him?
Steve's mind traveled unbidden to that night which seemed so long ago, when he had first fought the Skull amidst the New York harbor. He recalled with crystal clarity how mismatched he had felt against his foe, and the incredible pain that streaked like lightning through his body at each punishing blow he had received. But what had really hurt, what he remembered most of all, was that his heart had been filled with rage at Dr. Erskine's death. And how he had longed for revenge against the Skull, who had murdered his mentor, and had come so close to destroying the Doctor's dream as well.
And that was why the words the Skull had spoken rang so true in Steve's heart. Shmidt had claimed that they were so similar, just two sides of the same coin. They were both patriots, both willing to put their lives on the line for their countries. They had both been chosen, either by their nations or by fate, to embody the ideals of their people, and to carry their brethren to victory, and they both believed in their missions wholeheartedly.
The difference, of course, was that the Skull and the Nazi party he represented seemed to have had the advantage every step of the way. Germany and the Axis powers had been clearly winning the war. The Red Skull himself was stronger and faster than Captain America, and Steve had been only one decision away from trading everything he'd ever believed in for one chance at vengeance on that dark night.
"Why will the Nazis win? Why will I destroy you, the final legacy of Dr. Erskine and the Allies' last chance of winning this war, here tonight?" the Skull had said to him, his voice dripping with insane rage. "Because we sacrificed more! Because we care more! Every man, woman, and child lives and breathes for victory back in the homeland! We raise our young from birth to serve the Fuhrer, and put them to work with German efficiency as soon as they can walk while you Americans, so filled with pride and your own false self worth, assume that you can ride in and save the day with minimal effort and maximum glory just like a hero in one of your ridiculous western pulp novels!"
"Just look at me, Rogers!" the Skull had continued, his voice rising with passion. "I sacrificed everything! My body is now that of a hideous monster! I will be feared and hated wherever I go for the rest of my life, incapable of experiencing love from the people who I sacrificed everything to protect! I can never again be what I once was...and I did it all for my country! I destroyed myself so that I could be reborn to uphold and safeguard the ideals that made my nation great!"
"And what have you sacrificed? You gave up a life as a pathetic weakling in order to become an attractive, stronger, faster icon to be adored by the masses! Don't you see? I will win because I worked more for it! I will win because I have paid the price! I will win because I want it more!" the Skull had exclaimed. "Let's face it, Rogers. You're just one mistake away from being me."
And Steve had heard those words, and he knew in his heart that they were true. They both essentially had the same job, battling against opposing philosophies. And it was at that moment that he realized that if Captain America ever hoped to prevail against the forces of hatred and darkness that threatened his beloved country, he would have to stand stalwart against those same emotions in his own heart. Yes, he was only one mistake away from becoming just like the Red Skull. If he gave into his own feelings of anger he would turn into what he hated the most...and that was why he had chosen instead to become what his mentor had always hoped he could be, Captain America, an embodiment of freedom, and not of hatred.
As these memories slowly faded from the mind of Captain America, Steve couldn't help but reflect upon the irony of it all. Had he given in to his emotions, and killed Johann Shmidt that night, he would have betrayed his own ideals and rendered Dr. Erskine's sacrifice vain, but because he had chosen to be a better man than his enemy, he was going to die this day instead. It seemed that no matter what he did, he was going to lose.
"Oh well," thought Steve to himself as his vision slowly faded to darkness. "At least I can die knowing I stayed true to myself, and in the end, maybe that's all a man can ask for."
All that was left was his final thought as it echoed within the recesses of his mind, "...I love you, James."
"Say goodbye, Rogers," the Skull snarled, raising his fists for one final blow against the broken hero who lay at his feet.
"I don't think so, dirtbag!"
Before the Skull realized what was happening, the Patriot leaped through the air, vaulting straight over the monster's head. For one moment James was suspended against the sky just above Shmidt, their eyes locking as the Patriot continued flying above him. With one smooth motion, James dodged the Skull, who was attempting to swat him away, as he simultaneously took a grenade and shoved it straight into the Skull's grimacing mouth.
Frantically, Shmidt tried to reach into his mouth and spit out the grenade, but it was too late. As the Patriot landed just in front of the giant and immediately bent over to shield the body of his friend from the blast, the explosive went off with an impressive bang. Shmidt's bellow of anger was muffled by the blast as he was knocked clear off his feet, the ground thundering with the force of his body's impact. James grunted with pain as the explosion seared his back, ripping away the fabric of his uniform. But all that mattered was that Steve was alright. That was all that had ever mattered.
"Now fellas!" the Patriot shouted, cradling Steve's head as he confirmed that his friend was still breathing. "Do it now!"
As the immense figure of the Skull attempted to pick himself up, he was immediately assaulted by Ronin and the Black Panther. Their attacks were perfectly in unison and expertly executed, and with no time to prepare for them, Shmidt was taken completely by surprise as he began staggering backwards, taking blow after blow, incapable of defending himself.
Unexpectedly the two Invaders fell back as a mighty roar bellowed from behind them, "Imperius Rex!"
That was when the Sub-Mariner streaked through the sky, his flight so swift that the sound he made resembled that of a falling bomb, slamming into the Red Skull with such ferocity that the impact sent dust and debris flying clear across the battlefield, and causing mighty tremors that threw their warring soldiers from their feet from dozens of yards away. The powerful blow sent the Skull flying backwards through the air and straight through the wall of a nearby concrete bunker overlooking the beach. The Invaders had pushed Shmidt back, resulting in a crater at the spot where Namor had struck the monster, in which the Atlantean King now lay without moving.
But the Invaders were not done yet. Grabbing a flamethrower that he'd found discarded on the ground, the Patriot had strapped it to his back and was running as fast as he could towards the entrance of the bunker, "Go to hell, Shmidt!" he shouted, pulling the trigger.
Flames erupted from the weapon, engulfing the entire ruined bunker within the inferno. The Patriot screamed in fury as he wielded the flamethrower, making sure that its flames covered the whole area and that there was no way for the Skull to escape. For a minute that seemed to last a day, the Patriot's rage had consumed him and the only thing that mattered was the destruction of the one who had been responsible for visiting so much pain and agony on his friends. Behind him, Logan and T'Chaka were busy making sure that Steve and Namor (who were both unconscious) were in no immediate danger...so they were not close enough to protect their teammate from what happened next.
Without warning, the bunker exploded, sending chunks of concrete flying everywhere. Ducking to avoid the deadly shrapnel, James' eyes widened with shock and terror at the hellish scene before him. Erupting from the ruins of the Nazi stronghold, bellowing in furious anguish, was the Red Skull. Lacerations and bruises covered his body and incredible flames ate away at his flesh, but the Skull still stood, seemingly undaunted despite the fires burning his skin. Shmidt's madness had made him truly unstoppable.
Letting loose an animalistic growl, Shmidt crossed the ground that separated him from his enemy in one impossible leap. The Patriot tried to avoid the attack, but the Skull's speed took him by surprise. In the blink of an eye the Nazi had torn the flamethrower away from James and he had the soldier trapped in a crushing embrace.
James screamed in unbearable pain as he felt his bones crack and his muscles tear. The flames that still ravaged across the Skull's body had begun to singe James' skin. Horrified, he realized that he could smell the smoke of his own flesh burning away. Unfortunately, all he could do was struggle helplessly in the face of Shmidt's crushing attack. In another few moments he would lose consciousness...and then he would surely perish.
"Kill...you!" the Red Skull roared, his pain, anger, and madness now reaching a terrifying crescendo.
"Aaaargh!" James couldn't help but scream in pure agony, as his mind was wiped blank and consumed by the pain that wracked his broken frame.
Then, in one savagely fluid motion, the Skull lifted James bodily up over his head, placing one hand on his left arm and the other on his right leg, and straining with exertion, began to rip the Patriot's very body in half. James' high pitched, tortured scream echoed across the field of battle as both Ronin and the Panther raced to aid their friend, knowing that they were already too late.
With a sickening crack and a spurt of blood and sinew, James' arm was torn completely off his body. The Patriot's bloodcurdling scream mingled with Johann Shmidt's insane laughter as he casually tossed aside the now useless arm of his adversary. Looking towards the last two Invaders, he dropped James to the ground, already forgotten, while the Skull advanced on the only remaining foes who could still hope to oppose him. The Patriot, crippled and mutilated, was writhing and screaming in agony upon the ground, tears streaming down his face as he was wracked with wave after wave of mind numbing horror.
Suddenly, the earth underneath the Skull exploded. Shmidt's shout of shock and terror was drowned out by the deafening roar of the cliffside collapsing in on itself beneath his feet. Logan and T'Chaka barely managed to pull what was left of the Patriot out of harm's way before the ground itself collapsed, crumbling away and sending the Skull tumbling down to the beach below.
Looking up, Logan and T'Chaka could not believe their eyes. A hundred yards away, slowly making its way up the steep beachside pathway, was an Allied tank. Three more tanks surrounded its position, and they were being escorted by a company of fresh soldiers who were equipped with heavy artillery, only a small part of a massive wave of Allied soldiers who were making their way to the scene of battle. Their reinforcements had finally arrived.
Behind them the battle still raged on the mainland. Both sides had nearly exhausted their forces. The Allied regiments had fought valiantly, but still could not manage to break through the Axis lines. The mutated giants that had so fiercely assailed the Invaders had moved on to the main conflict, but had already been nearly totally destroyed during their fight against Captain America and his team. Less than a dozen had survived, and had luckily not managed to inflict any severe damage upon the Allied soldiers, instead disbursing across the beachhead, lacking the intelligence to contribute much to the battle either way.
The remaining Invaders feverishly looked for any trace of the Red Skull as the tanks continued their slow progress up the path, but he had either met his end underneath the tons of rubble that was all that remained of the cliffside and the bunker which had rested upon it, or had more likely beaten a hasty retreat.
T'Chaka hadn't the heart to inform any of his teammates that he had discovered extremely large footprints in the sand leading away from the battle that could only have belonged to Shmidt. But he wasn't surprised at the Skull's decision to flee. In his foolish exuberance for vengeance upon Steve, the Skull had ignored his window of opportunity during the battle, and now that Allied reinforcements had arrived, a victory for the ragged Nazi forces was nothing more than a pipe dream.
Across the field of war lay the bodies of thousands of men from both sides, their blood stained the ground crimson for miles in every direction. The war weary soldiers had fought long and hard, both Allied and Axis forces had gained strength from their heroes, each faction spurred on by the inspiration of their incredible, almost godlike champions.
But at the end of the day, when the smoke cleared, it was the men and women of the armed forces who finally turned the tide enough to win the day. The beleaguered German lines could not stand before the wave of fresh troops, supplies, and heavy artillery that swarmed the mainland. Quailing at the very sight of the new arrivals, the Nazi ranks instantly split, with many of their men having already been mowed down or captured by the Allied forces.
The invasion of Normandy had finally been decided.
But Logan and T'Chaka didn't have time to celebrate. If they could not find immediate medical attention for their teammates, they would not survive the night. Steve and Namor were battered, bruised, and unconscious...but they were at least still breathing. James was slipping in and out of consciousness, now only possessing a bloody, mutilated stump where his arm used to be, so if they couldn't figure out a way to stop the horrendous amounts of blood he was losing within the next few minutes, then he would have no chance of survival.
The last thing James saw with his dulled and blurry vision was Logan's face above him as he told T'Chaka to go and find a medic as fast as he could...and then his world went dark.
James Barnes awoke nearly twenty-four hours later. It was the cold that did it, the persistent chill that forced his eyes to slowly open, chasing the lethargy from his senses. Gradually he became aware of the noise around him, grunts of pain mingled with hushed voices. He could immediately tell that he was still near the sea, even in his sad state. The foam in the wind and the scent of the air confirmed that much.
Fully opening his eyes, James could tell that he was in a tent of some kind. As the wind blew it rippled the fabric of the walls and found its way in through the gaps between the ceiling and bare ground. He could only guess that he must be in the medical tent, which would be large enough to shelter dozens of people. But his foggy brain couldn't remember exactly why he would be in there...
Looking to his side, the answer became painfully apparent. His shoulder had been wrapped thoroughly in white bandages, and where his arm had once been, now there was a disturbing space where he felt something should be. Along with that realization came a dull ache coming from the stub of his shoulder, and he got the distinct feeling that it was a pain that he would become all too familiar with for the rest of his life.
But none of that seemed to affect James at the moment. It was all too much. Too much to deal with. Too much to feel. The events of the last few days washed over him like a wave of nauseating terror. It was just too much. Too much for any man to experience. He felt a dull numbing sensation wash all over his body. He felt...dead inside. Dead to the world, as if his entire existence was now tainted...wrong. The world had somehow gone wrong around him. It shouldn't be like this.
"Glad to see you're awake."
"Steve!" James exclaimed, turning his head in time to see his friend enter the tent.
Steve was out of uniform, instead adorned in a hospital gown just like James was. Unfortunately, it was difficult to actually see the gown through the amount of bandages and splints that covered the super soldier nearly head to toe. But none of that could stop Steve from flashing that smile of his that lit up the room like only he could.
"It's so good to see you," Steve said, bending over and hugging his friend.
James managed to mumble a reply as he fought back tears, eventually finding it in himself to choke out, "Did...did we win?"
Steve smiled again, "Yeah. We managed to hold out just long enough for reinforcements to arrive and stabilize our position. We took the beach, and now we've opened the door to take back Europe."
A shadow seemed to pass over Steve's face, "But, the men. We lost so many. Too many died on the beach that day, James. Too many."
A silence fell over the room.
"How's the team?"
"Oh, everyone pretty much looks like this," Steve said, forcing another smile as he indicated his mummy like appearance. "Logan's already healed up, of course, but the doctors say that we'll be ready for combat in about a week...more or less."
James hung his head, "What...what about me?"
Steve placed his hand on his friend's good shoulder, "I won't lie to you James, it's bad. The doctors can't do anything about your arm, but they say that at least there won't be any permanent damage to the rest of your body. They've scheduled you to begin a strict rehabilitation regiment in a few days. You'll be fine."
James couldn't help but sniffle as tears leaked from his tightly clenched eyes. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Three days ago he had been an incredibly fit soldier, part of the most elite fighting team in human history, ready to defend his country until his last breath. Now...he wasn't even going to be able to move without spending time in rehab sessions. What was he going to do now?
"James...listen," Steve said in a soft voice, crouching down so he was at eye level with his friend. "Back there, when Shmidt attacked me...you saved my life. You and the rest of the team, you saved my life. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be here right now. I just...I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart."
Steve's eyes were overflowing with tears, "Thank you."
And as Steve Rogers and James Barnes hugged each other in that small, cold tent room, they did so not as heroes or Invaders, but just as men, as survivors, souls who had somehow found themselves alive at the end of a memory that would define them for the rest of their days.